


The Book of Cas

by Snowcleo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Biblical References, Canonical Character Death, Dreams, Family, Gen, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowcleo/pseuds/Snowcleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean dreams of Cas</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book of Cas

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime between 7.03 The Girl Next Door and 7.04 Defending Your Life
> 
> Quotes taken from The King James Bible, Ruth 1:16-17

Dean was driving down a long road, his baby purring underneath him, the sun warm as it poured through the windows. He didn’t have any place to be or any worries or any pressing jobs. It was just him and his car and his music and Castiel in the passenger seat.

…And that was when he knew it was a dream. Because in real life, he had plenty of places to be, more than enough to worry about, and Cas was dead, for the third and final time.

Dean sighed and pulled the Impala over to the side of the road, his enjoyment of the drive gone. Parking the car, he got out and went to sit on the hood. After a long minute, he heard the passenger door open and then close again. He didn’t look over as Cas settled onto the hood next to him. They just sat, staring at the brush, which stretched out for miles, the only thing visible apart from the lonely highway.

Finally Cas spoke, “I am sorry, Dean, for what I did.”

Dean shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Without even looking over, he knew Cas was cocking his head to the side in confusion. “Of course it matters, Dean. You are angry with me.”

“No, Cas, that’s not what I mean.” Dean sighed. “I mean, it doesn’t matter because you aren’t really here.” He finally turned to look at Cas, taking in the familiar trenchcoat – the one that would never again be wrapped around a skinny body in an awkward suit – and moving his eyes up to see the same scruffy cheeks and curious blue eyes that he remembered every time he thought of Cas. “You’re dead, Cas. You’re _dead_. So whatever this is,” Dean waved his hand between them, “it isn’t real. It’s just a figment of my imagination. It’s a dream.” He turned his head back to the brush and muttered under his breath, “and not a very good one.”

Cas shifted on the hood, but said nothing in reply. The sound and the light smell of him made Dean hurt all over. This dream was worse than the nightmares. At least with those he knew what to expect. This was taunting him with something he could not have. He longed to wake up, but at the same time, he was terrified that if he did, then he would never see Cas again, never talk to him, never again correct his mistakes or tease him, never again have Cas appear out of thin air. Dean could feel the frustration and pain deep inside himself, but he was so tired that he just couldn’t muster up the anger to yell or hit, any of his usual responses. Instead he just leaned forward, resting his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. “Why did you do it, Cas?” he asked.

Cas responded, predictably, “I did it for you, Dean.”

Dean looked up. “No, not the whole deal-with-a-demon thing. I’m never going to understand that one, so don’t even try.” Cas opened his mouth to respond and Dean cut him off. “Shut up. This is my dream; I get to talk.” Cas closed his mouth obediently. “Thank you. What I want to know is why you _thought_ you were doing this for me. Not the Purgatory thing, but all of it: leaving Heaven, disobeying orders, all of it.”

It was Cas’s turn to sigh. He looked past Dean, the way he used to when he was thinking. Something in Dean’s chest ached, sharp and tight.

“Dean, have you ever read the book of Ruth from the Bible?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe, if it had something to do with a case.”

“Then you probably haven’t. It’s just a simple story – only three chapters – about two women who form a family and keep that family together despite all odds.” Cas looked off into the distance, eyes far away as if he were remembering. “‘And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’” His voice rang out as he quoted, deep and rich. Dean shivered despite the warm sun.

Cas’s eyes met Dean’s. “You are my family. You became my family the moment I touched your soul in Hell. I saw you there, ravaged and broken, bloody instruments of torture clutched in your hands. The look on your face was one of such anguish. And I knew then that I would do anything – _anything_ – to keep you safe, just as you would for Sam.” He stared hard into Dean’s eyes, before dropping his gaze back to his lap. “But I didn’t know how to do that. ‘Family’ is not something angels understand, not the way they understand ‘duty.’ Angels will only sacrifice themselves for the sake of their mission. I would sometimes remember the Novacs and how Jimmy felt about Claire and Amelia. I tried to guess what he would have done, but I am not human and my efforts were…misguided.” He looked back up at Dean. “I am _sorry_ for what happened. It was never my intent to hurt you.”

Emotion filled Cas’s eyes, a mixture of pain and regret and something else that looked too much like what Dean thought love must look like. He turned away, afraid of what else he might read in Cas’s face and saw that in the distance the horizon was starting to disappear. He suddenly realized that he could feel the edges of the dream beginning to pull apart. He reached out and clutched Cas’s shoulder, desperate not to wake up, not to lose this. The trenchcoat under his hands was comforting and he hated that he’d never again feel it warmed by a living body.

“Cas, please. Don’t leave me. Tell me I’ll see you again.”

Cas smiled gently. “Live, Dean. Live your life and try to find happiness. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

Before Dean could stop him, Cas reached out and gently touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead. The last thing he heard was Cas saying his name one time, softly and reverently, “Dean…”

He woke up, gasping, tangled in the bedsheets of yet another cheap motel room in yet another no-name town. Sam was still asleep, snoring gently in the other bed.

Dean fumbled in the drawer next to the bed for the Gideon Bible, then grabbed the half-drunk bottle of Jack off the table and went outside. Opening the trunk of the Impala, he carefully unearthed the trenchcoat from its hiding place and wrapped it around himself. It was cold and smelled only of car exhaust and gun oil, not anything like Cas.

Dean closed the trunk and leaned back against the car. After taking a long swig from the bottle, he began to flip through the Bible until he found the right passage, squinting to see in the dim pre-dawn light, illuminated only by a flickering bulb outside their motel room. Finally he found the right section and realized there was more than what Cas had quoted. He read, “‘Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.’” Tears pricked his eyes and he fiercely blinked them away.

Setting the book aside, he wrapped the trenchcoat around himself, remembering the sound of wings and the ozone smell of angelic power. Then he watched, drinking and trying desperately to think of nothing at all, as the sun rose and tossed its golden light over the brush that stretched out for miles alongside the long, lonely highway.


End file.
